


Operation: Birthday!

by skatzaa



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anxiety, Asexual Character, Cooking, Disabled Characters, F/M, Fluff, Food mentions, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: Steve, Bucky, and Nat agree to the following: instead of giving gifts this year, they each have a single day to try and give Sam the best birthday experience ever. But all's fair in love and war, and none of them like to lose, especially not when date night is on the line.





	Operation: Birthday!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VeggiesforPresident (luridCavum)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luridCavum/gifts).



> Hello! This was written for the Sam Wilson Big Bang over on tumblr! This was such a blast to write, and it was even more enjoyable working with Veggies, who created wonderful art for this fic, [which you can view here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222153)!
> 
> I'll admit that I ran out of time, so this isn't nearly as polished as I'd like, but it also ended up being about ten thousand words longer than I was expecting lol. I'll probably edit it sometime within the next week; until then, sorry for any mistakes!
> 
> Finally, please, _please_ tell me if there is anything glaringly inaccurate or offensive. I'm sure that it was not my intention, and nobody is perfect, but I would like to take this opportunity to learn from my potential mistakes, if you're willing to help me.

SEPTEMBER 24

SAM

The bell above the door jingles as Sam steps into Riley’s Diner late Sunday afternoon. He breathes in the slightly overpowering mix of grease, fried foods, and freshly baked bread that his him as he scans the room. His usual booth is taken by a family of four and their overwhelming mess. Sam winces; Teddy isn’t going to appreciate having to bus that when they leave.

After a second glance around he finally spots Rhodey tucked away in the far corner. Sam nods and smiles at the staff he recognizes as he goes. Riley may be in the kitchen, as he always is, but Sam has been coming here since day one, and he knows nearly everyone who’s ever worked here.

Sam slides into the booth across from Rhodey but doesn’t bother to pick up the menu. Riley will only make him one thing these days because he still hasn’t gotten over that time Sam made a smartass comment about one of his sandwiches.

“Good to see you man,” Rhodey says.

“You too,” Sam replies, grinning. “You wouldn’t believe what the past week was like.”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

He cuts off as Clint wanders over, grinning at the two of them. Rhodey gets coffee and the all-day breakfast special while Sam orders a water and his “usual,” which makes Clint snort behind the piles of menus he’s holding.

Rhodey takes a sip of his soda. “So, should I even ask about your birthday?”

Sam groans at the thought and drops his head down. The green and white vinyl tablecloth sticks to his forehead a little. Despite it all, though, he can’t help but to smile fondly.

“You’re not going to believe what these idiots did…”

* * *

SEPTEMBER 18: 5 DAYS TO BIRTHDAY 

STEVE

Steve pushes open the door to Riley’s diner and does his best to breathe through his mouth.

Bucky and Nat are already in the booth the three of them always have their Monday lunches in, and he weaves his way through the tables to get there. It’s a little harder with his cane, but he’s having a not-great day, and he’d rather use it than potentially hurt himself, even if it means it takes him twice as long to get across the restaurant. Maybe they should think about picking a different booth, in the future.

Halfway, he hears someone yell, “Hey there, Steve!”

He looks up and sees Riley standing by the door to the kitchen, dirty rag in hand. Steve waves back and Riley disappears through the swinging double doors to continue running the kitchen.

Steve reaches the booth. Bucky looks distraught, nails on his flesh hand caught between his teeth. Nat is glowering at her phone.

He kisses Bucky on the cheek, settles in next to Nat, folds up his cane, and asks, “What’s going on?”

“Sam’s birthday is in five days,” Bucky says, eyes wide and frantic. He has the look of someone who’s had far too much coffee in too little time. Steve’s sort of surprised the server hasn’t simply left the coffeepot on the table at this point.

Nat keeps typing furiously, adjusting to do it with just her right thumb when Steve takes her left hand in his.

Then Bucky’s words sink in—

“ _What?_ ” Steve yelps, voice cracking a little. “ _Five days??_ ”

“I know!” Bucky says. “How did we manage to forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” Nat snaps, still not looking up. “But my gift’s shipping was delayed, so it won’t get here until the 28th now.”

Steve pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand and then scrubs it through his hair, which is really getting too long again. But with Sam’s birthday so soon—and the fact that Steve didn’t budget for it this month—he won’t be able to afford to cut it for at least another two weeks.

Shit.

This past summer, Steve had been idly toying with the idea of painting something for everyone’s birthdays, maybe a series of scenes. He hadn’t ended up deciding on anything, though, what with the excitement of getting a new job and moving Bucky into his new apartment and Sam’s graduation from his Master’s program and Nat’s raise at her own job. And now it’s five days before Sam’s birthday, and Steve doesn’t have so much as a sketch to work off of.

He could probably whip something up if he dedicated enough time to it, but he’s not sure that he can pull it off. There’s a huge consulting presentation coming up soon that his boss asked him to handle, which is _awesome_ for Steve—and his bank account. But it’ll also be time consuming, and it’s not something he can blow off.

Which leaves buying a gift, but that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, like he just swallowed day-old coffee. There’s nothing _wrong_ with store-bought gifts and Steve knows that, but he’s always preferred to give something that he made himself. It feels more personal that way, especially for one of his partners.

Apparently, Bucky has been thinking along a similar line of thought as they’ve been sitting there quietly, because he says, “What if…”

After more than two decades of friendship and, more recently, a year and a half of dating, Steve should know better. That’s the tone that has always preceded the harebrained schemes that inevitably got the two of them in trouble throughout their entire childhood together. That’s the tone of voice that’s clearly telling him _don’t pass go, don’t collect five hundred dollars,_ and _for the love of god do not go along with this!_

Steve has never been very good at taking warnings seriously, though. He locks eyes with Bucky and raises an eyebrow.

The thing is, Nat _does_ know better. She’s known better since the moment Steve-and-Bucky because Steve-and-Bucky-and-Nat, in the years before they all met Sam, and she’s become even more aware of it since the four of them started dating, because Sam loves nothing more than to egg Steve or Bucky on. Nat is just as immune to Bucky’s brand of troublemaking as she is to Steve’s or Sam’s, which means she has no excuse for ever getting pulled into crazy ideas.

So when she puts down her phone and cocks her head to one side to show Bucky she’s willing to listen, Steve knows she’s really desperate.

“What if,” Bucky repeats, “instead of _giving_ Sam something this year, we each get a day where we try to give him the best birthday experience ever?”

It’s not the best explanation ever, but Steve thinks he knows where Bucky is going with this.

“So,” he says, trying to decided how he was to phrase it in order to clarify what Bucky means, “a competition?”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Bucky says, starting to smile, which is another warning sign. That smile has never meant anything good. “So we draw straws or something, and that’s the order of our dates. On his birthday, we take Sam out to dinner and ask which day he liked the best.”

From the corner of his eye, Steve can see Nat start to smirk. It’s barely more than a quirk of her lips, but Steve knows she’s hooked. But that’s alright, because he is too. The four of them have always liked a bit of healthy competition.

Nat asks, “What does the winner get?”

That stumps Bucky. He frowns down at the tabletop, thinking. Steve can hear his prosthetic tapping against the wooden side of the bench. It’s another sign that he’s really starting to adjust to it.

“Winner gets the next full rotation of date nights, with no interference from anyone else?” Bucky suggests. He adds quickly, “Excluding Sam’s, of course.”

“Damn, that’s good,” Nat swears under her breath. Steve can’t help but agree; date night is a closely guarded tradition, occurring every Saturday night, barring emergencies. The date night rotation is mercilessly negotiated every four months like clockwork, and turns are only ever given up for the most important of favors.

Sam’s night is this Saturday, which also happens to be his birthday, but he’s already said that he wants the four of them to go out to dinner together. To have the next three Saturdays is incredibly tempting.

Then Bucky’s other condition registers.

“You said specifically no interference on the date nights,” he says slowly. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“All’s fair in love and war, so long as no one gets seriously hurt,” Bucky says.

Nat laughs, bright and loud. At least one person at the booth behind her turns to look in their direction. She flashes her sharpest smile at the both of them and says, “You’re going down, boys.”

Steve scoffs and glances around the diner, trying to find Billy, or maybe Isaiah, who is the closest thing the diner has to a manager besides Riley himself.

Steve catches Isaiah’s eye and makes a face. Isaiah rolls his eyes but abandons his spot by the window to the kitchen. He’s a big man, taller than Bucky and wider in the shoulders, but Isaiah had no issues navigating the chaos of the diner. He moves like a dancer; not for the first time, Steve is struck with the urge to draw him. When he reaches their table Isaiah says, “I don’t want to get involved.”

Nat laughs again.

Bucky opens his mouth but Isaiah cuts him off. “Nope. I know you three too well. You’re not dragging me into whatever you’re planning.”

“All we need you to do is decided an order for the three of us to do something,” Steve says, trying to use his most convincing smile.

Isaiah gives him a Look.

Steve keeps smiling.

It’s a full thirty seconds before Isaiah sighs and shakes his head in defeated exasperation.

“Fine,” he says. “How do you want me to do this?”

Steve looks to the side and meets Nat’s gaze. She shrugs.

“Straws?” he asks Bucky. Bucky nods and shrugs at the same time.

Isaiah rolls his eyes again. “Give me a minute.”

He turns his back to the table. Steve can hear the distinct _thwack_ sound that plastic straws make when they’re cut, and when Isaiah turns back he has three straws held in his hand, all of which appear to be the same height.

“You all know how this works,” Isaiah says. “Shortest straw goes first. Sound good?”

They all nod. Bucky goes first, reaching with his flesh hand to take the middle straw.

Nat goes next, and she has to let go of Steve’s hand in order to use the edge of the table and then Steve’s shoulder to push herself upright. She leans forward, hand still on his shoulder, and Steve gets a tantalizing whiff of her favorite body spray. The straw she pulls is definitely shorter than Bucky’s, but it’s possible that the last straw maybe falls between the two, or is longer than Bucky’s.

Steve dislodges Nat’s hand and reaches to take the last one, tucked close to the base of Isaiah’s thumb. He pulls it free and then all three of them hold their straws out to compare their lengths.

Steve’s is the shortest.

He groans as Bucky and Nat bump fists from across the table.

“Now that that’s done,” Isaiah cuts in, “are you guys gonna order something or what?”

* * *

SEPTEMBER 24

SAM

Rhodey gives him a disbelieving stare. “Let me get this straight: they made a wager about who could take you on the best date, where the stakes were nearly a month’s worth of date nights, and agreed that they could sabotage each other, all without asking you first.”

Sam laughs as Clint appears again, holding a plate in each hand. He sets one down in front of Rhodey and it smells absolutely _delicious_ ; Riley’s homemade home fries are to die for. The other he gives to Sam.

Clint says, “They really did. I heard about the whole thing from Isaiah after.”

They thank Clint and he wanders off to help someone else. Rhodey shakes his head and then raises an eyebrow, visibly changing the subject. “A turkey club?”

“I told Riley once that it was dry and flavorless and he hasn’t let me order anything else since,” Sam says, poking morosely at it. At least this time it doesn’t look like it’s dripping mayonnaise. “He makes it differently every time.”

“Really?”

Sam nods and tries not to look too pathetic when Rhodey digs into his food. He picks up his sandwich tries to work up the enthusiasm to take a bite.

They sit and eat for a while, the sounds of the other diners surrounding them. The sandwich actually isn’t that bad this time, Sam is thankful to discover, but he’s also glad he only comes to Riley’s once a week, because he doesn’t think he could handle eating a turkey club more often than that. Even once a week is pushing it, if he’s being honest.

Rhodey finishes off his bacon and asks, “So what happened next? It was Steve’s day first, right?”

Sam laughs. “Yeah. He took me flying.”

Rhodey takes a bite of his home fries and looks impressed and a little shocked. “Really? That’s awesome.”

“Well,” Sam says and shakes his head. “Lemme back up…”

* * *

SEPTEMBER 20: 3 DAYS TO BIRTHDAY

STEVE

Being first in the rotation meant that Steve had the least amount of time to plan, and would be the most distant memory when it came time for Sam to pick his favorite day, but it _also_ meant that he had the chance to set the bar high. If he pulled off a _really_ good date, it would put the other two at a disadvantage from the get-go, because Sam would be measuring their dates against his.

So he googles different options, and calls around town, and comes up with a plan.

Of course, his plan doesn’t include waking up on Wednesday morning, the day of his date, to texts from Sam about the date that _he shouldn’t know anything about._

**From: Sam**  
!!!  
BABE thank you I’m so excited!!

Steve is still half asleep when he reads it, so he just sends back a _?_ and continues to stumble through his morning routine. Nat was missing from bed when he woke up, which isn’t unusual on weekdays, but her absence is starting to look more suspicious by the second. He’s in the middle of brushing his teeth when his phone buzzes with another text from Sam, and he nearly chokes on his toothpaste when he opens it.

It’s a screenshot of an email confirmation for _chartering a plane._ For _this evening_.

Steve absolutely _did not_ charter a plane, and honestly never plans to, because he gets sick on _elevators._ But someone else did in his name, obviously, and he has the digital evidence of it right in front of him.

This is Bucky and Nat’s doing. _Obviously._

So he does the only logical thing in this situation, and takes credit for it. He double checks the time the appointment starts and nearly laughs when he realizes how well it lines up with his own plans.

**To: Sam**  
lol sry jst woke up  
im glad tho! r u free by 230? i have plans before tht if it works for u :*

Steve knows full well that Sam will be free by that time, because he only has a short day of orientation at his new job today, but it seems polite to ask ahead of time. Actually, he’s almost grateful to Bucky and Nat, because they provided a perfect way for him to introduce the topic while _also_ making it seem romantic and spontaneous on his part. They’re practically doing all the work for him.

He swallows his morning pills and grabs his glasses from the medicine cabinet so he can see the keyboard of his phone well enough that he doesn’t have to rely on abbreviations in his texts, because Sam hates them even if he’ll admit to it. Then he considers the array of generic, over-the-counter meds he and Nat keep in there for the convenience of everyone on the occasions when Sam and/or Bucky stay over.

Naturally, the ones that are meant to help with his motion sickness are missing.

Steve pokes his head out of the bathroom. Nat is nowhere in sight—the kitchen is empty and the door to her old bedroom-turned-office is closed—but there’s no doubt in his mind that she’s the culprit here. Her shift for her latest you-don’t-have-the-clearance-to-know-what-I’m-doing job starts early in the mornings too, so she’s already gone, probably with the bottle of meds tucked into her bag. Steve can’t afford a new bottle right now, not with his paycheck a week and a half away and the tickets for his _actual_ plan already purchased, and Bucky definitely knows that, because Steve was complaining about money to him just last night over pizza and video games at Bucky’s new apartment.

He makes his way to their bedroom and tries to pick out an outfit that will be appropriate for work as well as the date tonight, and won’t be something he’d hate to lose if he _does_ puke.

Because that’s the thing. This whole airplane thing has the potential to really work to his advantage, but only if he doesn’t puke all over himself, Sam, and/or the airplane first.

Steve grimaces as he pulls on his shirt. Maybe one of his co-workers will have something to help with his motion sickness, but he’s not betting on it.

*

Aside from occasional lecture series, the Hayden Planetarium isn’t usually open to the public, but when Steve had called their front office and said, “ _I just really want to make this the best birthday ever for my boyfriend,_ ” someone, somewhere, decided to make an exception for him.

Well.

Technically, the planetarium was doing elementary school tours today anyway, but someone relatively high up on the food chain must have a soft spot for idiots who wait until the last minute to make birthday plans, because they had agreed to let Sam and Steve view one of the shows for the school groups so long as they were respectful, didn’t interact with the kids, and paid the usual adult ticket prices for a lecture. Steve immediately agreed.

In hindsight, it’s not the most romantic of dates to be surrounded by dozens of school children, but Steve is relatively confident that Sam won’t mind that part.

Which is good, because before he knows it it’s 2:30 PM and he’s standing in front of the VA Vet Center that Sam just started working at this week, waiting for Sam to come outside. He has his favorite bag slung over one shoulder, with his collapsible cane in the main pocket, because he’s having a good day, but that can change quickly. Steve nods at a few people as they walk by, not because he knows them or wants to thank them for their service, which he knows Bucky and Sam, at least, dislike, but because it’s the polite thing to do. A few of them nod back and a few continue on their way, either because they’re ignoring him or they didn’t see him in the first place, and none of them try to start a conversation, which is good, because Steve can see Sam coming out the front door now.

Steve straightens and takes his hands out of his pockets, already smiling. He has to push up on his toes to kiss Sam hello, and he savors the way he can feel Sam’s lips start to stretch into a grin just as the kiss ends. Steve pulls back a little and they smile at each other as Sam takes one of Steve’s hands.

“So what’s this mystery stop?” Sam asks, and he’s so obviously excited about the chartered plane while trying _not_ to look obvious that it makes Steve’s heart ache a little. He doesn’t want to mess this up by throwing up everywhere, which is part of the reason why he didn’t have anything for lunch; the rest of the reason being that he got distracted by his big project at work, but it’s honestly only a small percentage.

He hopes his stomach doesn’t give him away by growling.

“You’ll see,” Steve says, trying to sound teasing and mostly succeeding. Normally, he’d have them take the subway like any _sane_ person in this city, but since they’ll have to go to the airfield after anyway he asks, “Do you mind if I drive us there?”

Sam nods, and they walk around the block to the parking garage entrance that’s on the west side of the building. It’s a nice day, and Steve takes the opportunity to admire the historic buildings of downtown Brooklyn and the sight of Sam in his nice button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It’ll be a bit of a drive to the planetarium, and Steve hops Sam won’t mind.

Steve grabs the keys, unlocks the car, and opens the passenger side door for Sam, who gives him a fond smile and a kiss on the cheek before he sits, already reaching for his seatbelt. Steve eases the door closed and walks around the front of the car to his own door. Halfway there, when he’s just between the two headlights, he catches sight of Sam through the windshield. He’s grinning ear-to-era, and Steve watches as Sam buries his face in his hands, something he only does when he’s so happy it’s embarrassing for him.

Steve stops walking.

What does it mean, that Sam is more excited for the part of the date that Steve had nothing to do with? Granted, he doesn’t _know_ they’re going to the planetarium, but really, how could a very large projector and a bunch of loud, tired kids compare to an actual plane as a possibility, because he was too worried about his own issues to do something nice for one of his boyfriends.

Maybe they just shouldn’t—

“Steve?” Sam says, sounding sort of far away.

Steve blinks and refocuses. He’s still staring at the windshield but Sam is no longer there. Maybe he decided to leave because Steve’s idea of a date was so bad?

But wait, no. That doesn’t make sense. Sam was just talking to him…

Steve blinks three times and pulls his eyes away from the car.

Sam is only standing a few feet away, his face drawn.

Steve swallows and feels his mouth twist, and he has to look away from Sam. _Of course_ he couldn’t even do a date right. _Of course_ he has to make this about himself and not Sam, like it should be.

“Baby,” Sam says, as he takes Steve’s hands in his, “this is your anxiety talking, I promise.”

Steve presses his eyes closed, tight, and swallows again.

Sam’s right, Steve knows he is. This is his anxiety and he needs to just let it go like his therapist taught him, back in college, but that’s easier said than done. Sometimes his brain latches onto thoughts like these, sinks its teeth into them, and it takes hours for them to work their way out of his system.

But this is Sam’s day, and that’s something he can focus on, so Steve squeezes Sam’s hands and opens his eyes.

Sam smiles at him.

“Sorry,” Steve says, “sorry. I love you.”

He hugs Sam, resting his face against Sam’s shoulder, because that’s another think his therapist told him, more recently, that it’s okay to reach out to the people he cares about for support. But he also does it to turn the focus around on Sam again, because that’s why they’re here.

“Do you want me to drive?” Sam asks, and it’s just another way he’s saying _I love you_ back.

It’ll ruin the surprise, but Steve knows his limits, so he says, “Yes please.”

He hands over the keys but still opens Sam’s door, which earns him a laugh. Once they’re both settled in the car, seatbelts buckled, Sam asks, “Okay, where to?”

“The planetarium?” Steve says, but it comes out as more of a question than a statement.

On the other side of the center console, Sam is quiet. Steve can feel his intrusive thoughts trying to spring up again, but instead of jumping to conclusions he turns and looks.

Sam still has his left hand on the wheel and his right hand has the key halfway into the ignition, but he’s looking at Steve too. And he has the softest smile on his face, the one that’s usually reserved for the most tender of moments between the four of them. His eyes are bright.

“Steve,” he says, “you got us into the Hayden Planetarium?”

Steve nods. Sam’s smile gets wider and brighter.

“My dad used to take us there whenever we could afford it,” Sam says. “Thank you so much, baby.”

Steve is so utterly, stupidly in love, but that’s alright. He smiles back.

*

The planetarium trip is a hit with Sam—kids pretty tired and mostly complacent at this point. They’re respectful of the staffs’ request for them to remain separate from the school tours, but Steve doesn’t miss the fond, proud look on Sam’s face every time he sees another young kid light up with the innate enthusiasm for learning something new that seems unique to children. Sam would’ve made a wonderful school teacher, if he hadn’t decided that helping his fellow veterans was what he wanted to do most.

The actual planetarium itself, where they go for the show, is large enough that Sam and Steve can find seats well away from the tour groups. They lay back in their seats and intertwine their hands just as the lights dim, and then the show starts.

It’s interesting, and uncomplicated in the way many things marketed specifically for children are—at least, it is in the first five minutes. That’s all Steve manages to watch before the motion sickness and vertigo kick in, and he has to look away rather than risk puking all over himself so early in the date. His glasses make it awkward where they hit against the back of the chair, and then end up sort of pushed an inch to the right, so half of his field of vision is nothing but his dark frames.

It’s alright, though, because what he can see of Sam’s face makes for the better show, in the end. His eyes are wide with wonder, his lips parted ever so slightly so he can _ooh_ and _ahh_ along with the younger members of the audience. He smiles and laughs and brings his free hand up, at one point, to cover his mouth, because he’s so astounded by what he’s seeing.

Okay, so Steve can admit that maybe the planetarium was a good idea after all.

At one point, towards the end, Sam turns his head so he can face Steve. The faint light from the projector screen that’s stretched above them just barely highlights his cheekbone.

He whispers, “You’re gonna miss the best part.”

Steve shakes his head, because he really, really isn’t.

*

Steve rides the high of his planetarium success for the whole car ride to the airstrip, partly because Sam is _still_ grinning gleefully, and partly because it’s taking his mind off of the knowledge of where, exactly, they’re going. It doesn’t particularly work, because Steve and planes don’t mix well.

At all.

He’s so making Nat sleep on the couch for this, except not really, because she’s a terror when she doesn’t get to sleep on a real bed. But it’s the sentiment that counts. He’s _getting_ his revenge over the next two days though, that’s for sure.

The less that’s said about the actual flight, the better.

Sam, of course, is confident and competent the moment they step on board the small aircraft “Steve” had rented them. The owner of the plane had looked a little skeptical when Steve introduced himself—rightfully so, if he’s being honest—but once Sam showed his pilot’s license and explained that _he_ would be the one flying, things went a lot smoother. Steve just makes sure that he has his bag with him before they board.

Steve would try to focus on that confidence and competence, because it really is sexy to see Sam in his element like this, but he’s already focusing most of his attention on keeping his gag reflex in check.

He really, _really_ doesn’t like planes.

It’s a relatively short flight—two hours total, including takeoff and landing—but Steve spends most of it gripping the arms of his chair and desperately hoping Sam is having a good time, because he deserves it. And Sam does seem like he’s enjoying himself, from what Steve catches. He’s perfectly in control every moment they’re in the air, so much so that towards the end of the flight Steve actually finds himself relaxing a bit. Of course, he still can’t speak without fearing that he’ll throw up, but still. It’s the little victories.

Just before they’re set to land, Sam turns them west, and they watch the sun set behind the silhouette of their city.

“Wow,” Steve manages to croak.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, and then he starts the landing procedures. Steve grips the arms of his chair a little tighter.

*

By the time Sam has gotten the plane back to where it should be, Steve’s calmed down enough that he’s pretty sure he’ll be fine when he goes to stand.

Well, he’s mostly sure.

Probably.

Just to be on the safe side, he unfolds his cane, which is a good decision, because he stumbles a little bit when disembarking, and it makes something in his back twinge uncomfortably. Sam gives him a concerned look when he sees the cane, but Steve waves him off, because it’s not that big of a deal.

Now that they’re back on solid ground and he doesn’t have to worry about handling the plane on his own, since Steve is utterly useless in that regard, Sam’s face looks like it’s about to split open from smiling too hard.

Steve has to take a few deep, steadying breaths before he can ask, “So, you had a good time?”

Sam whoops and actually pumps his fist, he’s so excited.

“Yes!” he says, bouncing on his toes. “Thank you, Steve!”

He swoops in for a hug and Steve hugs back, maybe leaning a little more heavily on his cane than he’d like to admit. He also smooshes his face into Sam’s shoulder, even though it presses his glasses into his skin uncomfortably, and lets him hold Steve up for a moment, but he pulls away as soon as Sam starts to.

With their faces this close, though, Sam can see how pale Steve must be. He narrows his eyes. “Did you not take your motion sickness pills today?”

Steve shrugs and gives him a sheepish smile. “I ran out,” he says, which is only sort of a lie.

Sam makes an exasperated noise and starts walking for the car, one hand on Steve’s lower back.

“Sorry,” Steve says, looking up at him, because he knows exactly what Sam is thinking right now. “I just wanted to give you the best date ever, and I know how much you miss flying. I wasn’t gonna let a little bit of nausea stop this.”

The warmth in Sam’s eyes could melt a freezer full of ice. It’s certainly making Steve feel a little gooey inside.

“Thank you,” Sam says, and then he leans in to hug Steve again. “Thank you so much. I had such a good time with you today.”

Steve beams and hugs him back with one arm.

He’s so stupidly in love, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

*

Steve invites Sam over to his and Nat’s apartment on the drive back with little more than a cocked eyebrow and a lecherous grin that makes Sam roll his eyes, but also nod.

When they get there and up to the third floor, which takes a bit longer than usual because Steve’s back is still bothering him, Steve is very careful to close the door quietly behind them.

And then he’s on Sam, dropping his cane so he can crowd him up against the hallway wall and lean up and in to kiss him fiercely. His hands grip Sam’s waist tight, and he hums when Sam’s hands make their way to his neck.

All three of his partners kiss so differently, and Steve loves them all equally, but there’s something to be said about the way Sam just melts into him and allows Steve to melt in return, especially after a long day.

They somehow, miraculously, manage to get from the hallway to the bedroom door without tripping over anything or pulling away from each other. Steve reaches out behind himself, fumbling for the doorknob, and then he finally finds it—

It doesn’t turn.

He pulls away from Sam, panting lightly and confused. He tries the doorknob again, but it doesn’t budge.

Steve turns and looks, and swears out loud at what he sees. _Someone_ has apparently replaced their generic doorknob with one that locks. And it’s not even an easy one to pick; no, it’s an exterior door lock.

On their _bedroom._

_Natasha._

If Steve strains his ears, he thinks he can almost hear giggling from the other side of the door.

He scowls, and then turns to give Sam an apologetic smile. One of his hands is still on Sam’s waist; he brings up the other to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“Uh,” he says. Sam is looking distinctly amused. “I don’t know why she did that. We could, uh…” he looks around their small, but cozy apartment. There’s not much to see. “Move this to the couch, if you want?”

Sam laughs and says, “No way. I’ve seen what you two have put that couch through, and there’s no way I’m getting it on over there.” He looks at Steve, appraisingly, and adds, “or on the floor, because I know that’s what you’re going to suggest next.”

Steve pouts, because he sort of was considering suggesting it even though it would be hell on his back, and Sam leans in to kiss it away. It’s a soft kiss, a goodnight kiss. It’s not what Steve was looking for, but he smiles into it anyway, because any kiss from Sam is something to enjoy.

When Sam pulls back he’s smiling too. He says, “Thank you for the wonderful date. I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, too.”

They kiss again. Steve walks Sam to the door, and closes it softly behind him after they exchange goodnights. He sighs, and then turns to face the rest of the apartment.

The bedroom door still isn’t unlocked, when he tries again.

“C’mon Nat,” he whines. “Sam’s gone, you’ve had your fun. Can you let me in now?”

Nothing except some more faint giggling.

Damn.

Steve turns to look at the old suede couch. This’ll be about as bad on his back as the floor, but he’s had worse. He rolls his eyes and goes to grab some of the extra blankets. But he also smiles.

Maybe that wasn’t the best possible end to a date; it wasn’t even the best possible beginning. But it was a pretty good date anyway. Maybe he’ll stand a chance after all.

He brings the blankets to the couch, thankful that they always have more pillows than is strictly necessary lying around the living room, and starts to prepare for bed, which mostly just includes brushing his teeth, taking off his jeans, and putting his glasses away in the bathroom medicine cabinet.

There’s no noise from the bedroom.

Steve settles onto the couch, drawing a blanket up his chest as he lays down.

And then the lock clicks, and the door swings open. Nat is standing there, hair loose around her shoulders. She’s wearing nothing but one of Bucky’s army shirts, which is much too large on her. The light from her phone, held loosely in her hand, gives a haunted, blue-ish sheen to her face.

“Steve?” She whispers.

Steve sits up and squints at her. He whispers back, “Yeah?”

Nat pushes the door open further and moves out of the way, gesturing to him. Her phone screen turns off, sinking the room back into darkness.

“Sam texted me,” she says. “He said you had to use your cane tonight.” Steve can’t really see her face, not in the dark and without his glasses, but he sees the way her shoulders are hunched. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know your back was hurting. Come to bed.”

Steve stands and drags the blanket along with him, though he leaves his jeans wadded up on the coffee table, to deal with in the morning. He stops in the doorway, which he’s only able to do because they’re both so slim, and presses a kiss to her temple.

“It’s alright, Nat,” he says. “You couldn’t’ve known. Come on.”

Steve wraps the blanket around the both of them, and they go to bed together.

* * *

SEPTEMBER 21: 2 DAYS TO BIRTHDAY

NAT

Nat is glad she didn’t leave Steve on the couch the night before when she wakes up the morning of her date. It’s before dawn still, since she has to work today, and Steve’s mouth is slack, his face half buried in the truly obscene pile of pillows he has to prop himself up with sometimes. Her heart does this _flip-flop-flip_ thing in her chest at the sight of him. Nat pushes herself out of bed instead of curling around Steve and calling up her other boys for a day spent in bed, which is what she really wants to do.

She gathers her clothes and dresses for the day in the dark, because she doesn’t want to wake Steve—Nat ends up finding her favorite shirt in his dresser, after several minutes of searching, and she isn’t sure if it’s a laundry mistake or if he borrowed it again without asking first.

When she opens the door, the living room is dark and empty. Steve’s jeans are still in a crumpled pile on the table, so Nat crosses the room to fold them for him. They end up in a neater but still slightly uneven pile, because Nat has never been good at folding laundry, but she thinks Steve will appreciate the effort.

She has done much harder things than navigate to the kitchen in the dark in much less practical outfits, and it’s easy enough to set up the coffee machine and turn it on. A breakfast of pop tarts and an apple in the dark is lonely, but she’s been doing this for years. She tells herself that coffee tastes just the same drunk over the sink as it does when savored in the company of her loved ones.

This, too, is a habit that years of practice have built upon. The lie is less bitter than the coffee, at least.

She sets the machine to warm, because Steve won’t be awake for a few hours yet, but she knows how much he hates cold coffee.

The keys are on a hook by the door. She grabs them, and doesn’t check on Steve one last time before leaving.

Natasha makes sure to lock the door behind her when she goes.

*

During her lunch—or the closest thing she gets to a lunch—when she’s sure there’s no one else around to see, she pulls out her phone.

**To: Unsaved Number**  
Hey there flyboy. You up for a bit of competition tonight?

She tucks the phone back in her pocket and doesn’t get a chance to check it again until she manages to duck into the bathroom of the decrepit gas station the team stops at. There’s already a text notification.

She doesn’t smile at the screen, but it’s a close thing.

**From: Unsaved Number**  
You know it

She lets the corner of her mouth twitch at that, and texts back.

**To: Unsaved Number**  
I’ll pick you up after work and handle the clothes. Be prepared to bring your A game

Someone bangs on the door. She doesn’t jump. From the other side, Barton says, “You coming, Romanoff?”

Romanoff puts the phone in her pocket, tugs at the hem of her jacket, and flips the weight of her hair back over her shoulder.

“Coming, Barton,” Romanoff says. “Did Maximoff find her tac vest yet?”

The lock sticks, but clicks open when she applies enough pressure.

*

One of the perks of starting her shifts so early is that, barring any sort of crisis, she’s done for the day by the early afternoon. And since all three of her boys have jobs that allow them the approximation of normal human schedules, it means she has several hours before any of them will be off of work. Those several hours are a cherished part of her daily routine, especially on days like today, when she wants to make sure her sharpest edges have been smoothed out.

The door’s locked when she gets back, for which she’s grateful, because it means that Steve’s finally listening to her about safety. She still wishes this was a habit he had picked up back in high school, because it would have further deterred the worst of the bullies he used to pick fights with, but Steve never learned to back down from a fight, even the ones that followed him home.

Of course, she’s the one picking fights with bullies now, but Natasha is a little more prepared for them than sixteen-year-old Steve Rogers was, with his stubbornness and pride and his admittedly impressive right hook.

The apartment is empty, and she lets her shoulders relax, trying to let go of the tension that always builds between her shoulder blades. She hangs the keys, unzips her jacket, and closes the door behind her.

The dock for the speaker is still out in the living room from the last time Date Night turned into Dance Night, and she hooks her phone up to it with practiced ease before selecting her favorite playlist for this kind of day. Bucky made it years ago, back when the two of them would work out together after school. It was for after the workout, when the two of them would have to wind down from the inevitable competition that had occurred. She presses play, and lets herself think of old, fond memories as the first song fills the apartment.

By the time she has showered, braided her hair back, and changed into a soft sweater she stole from Sam back in college, Nat nearly feels like herself. When she checks the time, she sees that she still has two hours before Sam will be done at the clinic, which means one thing. She unplugs her phone from the speaker and goes to grab her laptop.

Nat lets herself grin as she curls up in the corner of the couch, opening the Netflix app and navigating to her “to be continued” list. She has plenty of time to watch an episode of Star Trek before the date, and if she gets through it, she’ll be done with this season. She and Sam can talk about it, which will no doubt work in her favor, since Bucky is a diehard Star Wars fan and Steve is only casually enjoys both. Sam’s been trying to get her to watch Star Trek since they first met, and now that she is, he’s going to be ecstatic when he finds out.

Nat tucks a throw pillow under her arm and settles in for the next hour.

*

The thing about having three different boyfriends who all have distinctly different body shapes is that Nat learned long ago to always have clothes in their sizes tucked away in the back of the closet she and Steve share. Jeans, t-shirts, socks, and underwear she has in abundance, but there’s nothing stashed away that’s suitable for her plans tonight. That doesn’t mean there isn’t _anything_ suitable in the apartment: Nat shamelessly grabs one of Sam’s old t-shirts from Steve’s side of the bed, because there’s no way she’s giving up one of hers, and then she finds a pair of workout leggings in her dresser that obviously belong to Bucky but will fit Sam well enough tonight, so long as he doesn’t mind them being a bit tight across the ass.

She certainly won’t mind.

Nat stows the clothes in her bag along with a pair of sneakers that Sam forgot by the front door the last time they went jogging together, and then gets dressed herself. Nothing fancy: she pulls on a similar pair of leggings, her favorite sports bra, and a loose tank-top that probably belongs to Steve, technically speaking. Then she undoes her braid and redoes it as a ponytail, laces up her sneakers, grabs her bag, and walks out the door.

After a moment of hesitation, Nat walks right back inside and straight to the bedroom, where she takes the bottle of body spray from the top of her dresser and tucks it into her bag, making sure it’s upright. Smiling to herself, she leaves, making sure to lock the door behind her.

*

See, she has it all planned out. She’ll pick Sam up from work at the end of his shift and she’ll take full advantage of Sam’s car to drive him to this crazy rock climbing place Sharon introduced her to recently. They’ll spend a few hours climbing—competing, if she’s being honest—and if she’s lucky, Sam will be up for a quick make out session in one hidden corner or another, because Nat _lives_ for getting competitive, and she knows Sam is the same way. Then they’ll clean up a bit, brave the traffic to Coney Island, and visit the amusement park there, because Sam _loves_ cheesy shit like that. Maybe they’ll even go on the Ferris wheel and stare at the skyline, or whatever it is one does on a Ferris wheel.

Depending on how tired they’re feeling, Nat will either suggest a walk along the beach and then a trip to Sam’s apartment—she knows better than to try to take him to her apartment, after the way she cockblocked Steve last night—or, maybe, they’ll just skip beach altogether and go straight back to Sam’s place, and end the night with a bang. Pun intended.

It’s perfect: simple, classic, and yet all things that will appeal to Sam. And the best part is, she paid for the rock climbing passes in cash and hasn’t breathed a word about Coney Island to anyone, so there’s _no way_ Bucky and Steve will be able to ruin her plans.

She’s totally going to win this date thing.

*

It starts out flawlessly.

Sam looks tired when she meets him outside of the nondescript building that’s meant to help conceal the location of the center, but it’s the type of tiredness that comes from a long day of doing work that’s meant to help people; it’s a fulfilling tiredness.

Natasha can’t entirely remember what that’s like.

Sam quirks an eyebrow when he sees what she’s wearing. He says, “I guess you weren’t kidding about the competition thing.”

She smirks and kisses his cheek, though she has to push up on her toes to do so. Sam catches her chin with his fingertips and gives her a real kiss, one that he draws out just longer than is polite.

Oh. So it’s not just rock climbing they’re going to be getting competitive over tonight. That’s fine by her.

Nat pulls away, but she also links one of her hands with one of Sam’s as they start to walk.

“When have I ever joked about competition?” she asks, and they laugh, but they also have nearly six years of friendship that can provide ample evidence to support that statement, so Sam doesn’t even try to refute her. She pats her bag with her free hand. “I have clothes for you; you can get changed when we get there.”

Sam gives her a warm smile that shows the gap between his two front teeth, and Nat’s heart does that same _flip-flop-flip_ thing it did this morning, when she was looking at Steve.

She squeezes his hand and leads him to the car, where she steals the keys and settles into the driver’s seat before Sam can even think to protest. He gives her an amused look, but opens the passenger side door without any fuss.

What follows is a thirty-minute adventure in Brooklyn traffic at its finest, which occasionally involves Nat cursing at assholes and gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands while Sam clings to the _oh shit_ handle above the door. Other times, though, the traffic is mild enough that they can blast the radio and sing along to the eclectic mix of songs on Nat’s driving playlist.

Sam looks a little skeptical when he sees the converted warehouse, but his face when they get inside is priceless. He looks like a little kid who’s about to be set loose in the world’s largest toy store. Even Nat will admit it’s pretty impressive, and she’s seen it before. The website said there are 22,000 square feet of climbing walls, and, looking at the first area of the warehouse, Nat can believe it, because there are handholds _everywhere_ , and she can see even more through the double arches at the far end of the room.

She steps up to the desk, pulling Sam along with her. The man there is the epitome of the new Brooklyn inhabitant, but Nat has met more annoying people, probably. She reaches into her bag and pulls the two day passes from the side pocket, deliberately ignoring the messy nature of his bun, which has an artificial quality of effortlessness to it, the kind that actually takes quite a bit of effort to achieve.

He smiles at her and takes the passes, saying, “Welcome to Brooklyn Boulders. Do you need to rent anything? We recommend harnesses for all inexperienced climbers.”

This last bit is shot in Sam’s direction, who doesn’t hear it because he’s still admiring the set up. Natasha doesn’t appreciate the underhand slight at Sam’s skill; he may not go bouldering every weekend like this jackass probably does, but he certainly knows how to climb safely. It’s just that the wall at their regular gym is a bit less extravagant.

Natasha gives the man, whose shirt proclaims him to be _Clay!_ , a sharp smile.

“I think we’ll be fine without the harnesses, thanks. Sam here,” she says, patting the muscles of Sam’s abdomen lightly, “was pararescue, and I—well, I can’t technically tell you what I do.”

Clay’s smile becomes a little terrified, his eyes widening while still trying to maintain his customer service persona. He says, “Uh…”

Natasha wishes her hair was down for maximum effectiveness, but she satisfies herself with flicking her ponytail off of her shoulder with a small movement of her head. She says, “We will, however, take two pairs of climbing shoes and some chalk, thanks.”

She tells him their shoe sizes, hands over the money for the rentals, and grabs them with her free hand. They also have to sign waivers stating that they understand what it means to not use a harness and that they legally can’t sue the company if anything happens to them. After that’s done, Natasha catches sight of the sign for the locker room-slash-bathroom, and starts steering Sam in that direction.

When they’re out of earshot, Sam laughs.

“You probably didn’t have to scare him like that, Nat,” he says.

Nat shrugs; Sam is right, most likely, but that doesn’t mean that smarmy bastard didn’t deserve it.

*

Sam’s ass, as predicted, looks great in Bucky’s leggings.

He frowns at her when he finishes changing and has come back into the main area of the warehouse.

“You have a key to my apartment,” Sam says. “You could’ve gotten clothes that actually fit me. Also, where did you find this shirt? I’ve been looking for it for years!”

Nat gives him a suggestive smirk, and he rolls his eyes at her but still follows her over to the bench where they sit to pull on the climbing shoes. Her bag goes into a locker, and then they’re good to go.

It’s easy, to fall into a rhythm once they start climbing, Sam keeping pace by her side. It’s a competition, but at the same time it’s not, not really—they’re pushing each other to keep up, but they never reach their limits. Nat quickly tunes out the sounds of the other climbers, the echoes that bounce off the odd angles of the room, and just focuses on the placement of her hands and feet, over and over again. Beside her, Sam does the same.

It’s refreshing, to flex her physical and metaphorical muscles, simply for the pleasure of doing so.

She’s more than happy to simply follow in Sam’s wake, going to whatever wall or obstacle that has caught his attention now. Mostly, he tries to steer clear of everyone else, which is fine by Nat.

A few hours in—she honestly can’t say what time it is, though it’s probably getting close to sunset—she and Sam return to the main room, and when she meets his eyes, she knows they’re done for the night. There isn’t going to be one last grand showdown between the two of them, where one of them is likely to get hurt and they’re both likely to get kicked out. If she’s being honest with herself, Nat doesn’t really mind, and it’s a surprising but not unwelcome realization.

They do end up making out in the locker room, though, which is a nice bonus.

*

The next stage of the plan is where it starts to go to shit, though she doesn’t know that right away.

On the walk back to the car, Sam says, “Man, I’m starving. Is dinner our next stop?”

“I’m sure we can find something to eat where we’re going,” she says, and then pauses to fish out the keys and unlock the car. When Sam ducks his head to get in the car, Nat sniffs her shirt to make sure she doesn’t smell too much like sweat. She doesn’t _think_ she does, but just to be sure, she pulls out the body spray and spritzes herself with it. Satisfied, Nat gets in the car too. Belatedly, she adds, “I hope you aren’t on a diet.”

Sam looks mildly concerned for his health, but doesn’t protest.

It’s another thirty minutes or so to Coney Island because the traffic has died down a bit by this time of night.

Sam catches on to where they’re going pretty quickly, and he snorts quietly when he realizes.

“Coney Island, really, Nat?” He asks, but he’s just teasing.

“I thought I’d win you a stuffed animal,” she says. “Bucky and Steve will be so jealous.”

Sam snorts again and leans against the window. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Nat reaches over and lays a hand on his solid, warm thigh. She says, “Anything for you, dear,” and this time he really laughs.

*

She does win him a stuffed animal, thank you very much, after they’ve eaten a dinner of hotdogs and fries that weren’t really worth the long wait, but they waited for anyway. It’s a cute little bird plushie that’s wearing goggles. Sam pretends like he doesn’t love it, but Nat catches the way he pats the bird’s head before tucking it under his arm. Nat hides her smile in his shoulder and takes his free hand.

Coney Island isn’t really that exciting if you’re over the age of twelve and aren’t a tourist, so they don’t spend too much time wandering around before Nat tugs Sam in the direction of the Ferris wheel. Neither of them are very fond of crowds, these days.

They’ve almost made it to the Ferris wheel when Nat sees a suspiciously familiar pair of heads through the crowd.

How did Bucky and Steve even _find_ them?

Nat pulls Sam to a stop and kisses his shoulder, which is the closest part of him she can reach. Sam gives her a questioning look.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” she lies, “go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Sam begins to pull away, but before she lets go of his hand Nat adds, “The stationary side, right?”

He looks relieved as he nods and starts making his way to the wheel, which, surprisingly, doesn’t look like it has much of a line for once. Nat squares her shoulders and angles herself toward the other two. They see her coming and begin walking, _quickly_ , in the other direction.

Smart men.

Nat catches up to them just before the entrance to the Ferris wheel. Both Steve and Bucky are wearing clothes that aren’t their usual styles—which means that Steve looks like a prep straight out of a TV show and Bucky could be a lost lumberjack—and dark sunglasses at night, as though that’s supposed to let them past incognito.

She puts her hands on her hips and plants her feet. Steve and Bucky exchange a Look.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Bucky says as they start walking away again, this time into the entrance to the ride. Nat follows, annoyed. “We’re here to ride the Ferris wheel, which is an incredible coincidence.”

Steve coughs into his fist. Nat glares at them both, but that’s about all she can do. It’s plain as day that they’re lying, but the bet explicitly said that sabotage is allowed, so it’s not like she can stop them.

She glares at their backs some more, to make sure her point has gotten across.

They’ve reached the point where the two lines split from each other. Without hesitating, Bucky and Steve head in one direction. They don’t even look back at her.

“If you guys were gonna go with the stationary side, Sam went that way,” Steve says, pointing back over his shoulder. “See you back at the apartment, Nat.”

Steve and Bucky have been living in the city since they were born; either of them alone have been on this ride more times than Sam and Nat combined, and, as they’ve told Nat many times, they _always_ go on the swinging side, because it’s more fun. Even when Steve pukes. So Nat trusts them and heads in the direction Steve pointed without checking for any signs.

That is a mistake.

Two minutes later, she realizes that Sam is nowhere in sight because she’s in line for the swinging side, and it’s too late to turn back because a bored looking attendant is shepherding Natasha and two love-struck teenagers into a car together. The only reason she doesn’t elbow him in the face and book it to the other line anyway is because she thinks Sam would probably be disappointed in her.

Those manipulative _jackasses_.

Natasha fumes through the entire first part of the ride, both because she walked straight into their trap and because the teenagers haven’t stopped making out yet, even though the swinging has stopped. She doesn’t know how neither of the girls have gotten dizzy at this point, but apparently, they haven’t.

Eventually it gets to be too much for her to sit there facing them, so Natasha turns and sits cross-legged on her bench, facing the outside of the car. She stares out through the protective cage, frowning. The car starts to swing again, on a path that makes it look like it’s going to slam into the stationary car that sits parallel to it.

The stationary car that just so happens to have Sam, Steve, and Bucky in it.

Her car swings out and up, and Natasha catches sight of the night sky over the dark ocean, but it isn’t enough to temper her scowl.

*

Sam drives them back to his apartment. He’s chattering away about his day and his favorite parts of the night. Natasha slouches in the passenger side seat.

“It’s too bad you missed the Ferris wheel ride,” Sam says. “I ran into Bucky and Steve while waiting in line? They said they hadn’t seen you and agreed to wait with me, but eventually the attendant started getting impatient, so we had to go. It would’ve been nice to have all four of us on a ride together.”

It sure would’ve been, Natasha thinks darkly.

“Hey,” he says, and Natasha hadn’t even noticed the smile on his face until it started fading away. “Everything alright?”

Nat pulls herself out of her black mood, because Sam doesn’t deserve to deal with her pouting like she’s five. She smiles and takes his hand. “Yep. Sorry.”

Sam doesn’t push; instead, he continues telling her about his day and his new coworkers, and Nat tries to do a better job of listening for the rest of the ride.

When they get to his apartment building, Sam parks in one of the free spaces, and makes sure to grab the bird plushie from the backseat. Nat smiles at the sight and tucks herself under his other arm.

Sam lives on the first floor, so it isn’t long at all before they’re standing at his door. Sam still can’t remember which key is for the front door, even after a year of living here, so Nat, ever the opportunist, takes advantage of the situation. She grabs the front of his shirt with both hands and backs up until Sam’s wonderful body presses hers against the wall by his front door. Nat draws him into a slow, almost-filthy kiss.

They stand there for a long time, trading kisses, until Nat notices that one of Sam’s legs has worked its way between her thighs and she decides it’s probably time to move this inside. Her own keys are somewhere in her bag, so she slips the keyring from Sam’s hand, somehow manages to unlock the door, and pulls him along with her as she steps inside.

Almost immediately, they pull away from each other, because the entryway is _sweltering._ Not just that—it’s humid.

Goddamnit. She should’ve known that, after last night, Steve would have found a way to exact his revenge.

Upon further inspection, the entire apartment is the same sticky temperature, and Nat knows there’s no way anything more is happening between her and Sam tonight. If it were excessively cold, she could give some sort of line about keeping Sam warm tonight, but Sam hates the heat, has hated it since he served overseas. There’s no way anything but a quiet goodnight is happening here, tonight.

She kisses Sam on the cheek, and then again on the mouth, and tells him she’s sorry that the thermostat seems to be malfunctioning. She can already see the sweat beading at Sam’s hairline, so she doesn’t push when he sees her to the door and says, “Sorry baby, it’s just not gonna happen tonight. Thank you for the wonderful date. I love you, so much.”

“Love you too,” she says. Nat gives him one last slow kiss, and then starts walking for the nearest subway station.

She had a great time, with someone she loves very much, and honestly, she doesn’t even care if she wins the bet, because it’s more important that Sam is happy for his birthday than it is that she satisfies her competitive streak.

Nat stops behind the yellow line, waiting for the train to arrive.

That’s a huge lie and she knows it.

Steve, if he’s smart, will stay at Bucky’s tonight.

It _was_ a good date though.

* * *

SEPTEMBER 22: 1 DAY TO BIRTHDAY

BUCKY

It’s a gray day, but the type where he misses the apartment the four of them shared together, when there was always someone around who was willing to curl around his back and not ask any more of him.

But today is his date with Sam, and Bucky has every intention of making it the best date he can manage. He’s spent a lot of time googling, over the past two days, whenever he isn’t sabotaging the dates of Nat and Steve or going to his biweekly appointment for the experimental prosthetic the VA hooked him up with, and he knows what he’s going to do.

Steve left early this morning, to get ready at his and Nat’s place before heading to work, so Bucky putters around his little studio apartment for about an hour before dawn, because his sleep schedule has been pretty messed up lately. When it’s closer to a reasonable time to be awake, he texts Sam, painstakingly tapping each letter to make sure there aren’t any spelling mistakes.

**To: O Sammy Boy**  
So, I was thinking we could maybe visit the Bronx Zoo this afternoon? I hear they have a giant exhibit called the World of Birds now

Without waiting for a response, Bucky types in a number he knows by heart and waits for the ringing to stop. When it does, he says, “Hey Darlene, it’s James. I was wondering if I could ask you what Sam’s favorite meal is? And if I could get the recipe from you?”

Darlene Wilson, bless her, is happy to tell Bucky everything he needs to know, and slowly enough that he can copy it all down one handed. He has to put the phone down too, and turn the speakerphone function on, because he doesn’t plan on wearing his prosthetic today, but she speaks clearly without Bucky having to ask. Sam’s favorite homemade recipe probably isn’t actually pizza, but she knows that Bucky’s cooking skills are minimal at the moment and gave him a recipe that Sam _will_ enjoy and Bucky can actually make.

Darlene is, without a doubt, his favorite parent. Bucky is very, very glad she seems to have decided to adopt him, Steve, and Nat, because she is the best parent any of them have had.

After he’s gotten the recipe Bucky leans his hip against the kitchen counter and they chat for a while, trading gossip and news and anything else that comes to mind. Eventually, though, Darlene has to go. She tells him, “Thank you for calling me, sweetheart, you know how much I love talking to you. You have a good day, now, okay? And I’ll see you for dinner at the house soon, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky says, and that makes her laugh.

Next on his list for the day is purchasing tickets to the Bronx Zoo, so after he gets off the phone with Darlene he checks his messages. Sure enough, there’s a text waiting for him.

**From: O Sammy Boy**  
Sounds great!! Do you want to meet there?

If Darlene Wilson is a saint, Sam Wilson is an angel. By agreeing to meet at the zoo, instead of traveling there together, Bucky will be able to take as long as he needs to tackle the public transportation without feeling guilty for holding Sam up, and Sam knows it.

**To: O Sammy Boy**  
That would be cool. See you there at 6:00?

When Sam agrees to the time, Bucky closes out of the messenger and opens his web browsing app.

Tickets to the Bronx Zoo aren’t exactly inexpensive, and his part time job at the little bookstore down the street doesn’t pay too well, but Bucky has enough saved up that he doesn’t feel guilty about spending the money, because it’s something for him and Sam to do together.

Bucky confirms the purchase, and then closes out of the app.

Next to do: go grocery shopping.

He pockets the instructions from Darlene and roots around in one of the cupboards until he’s able to find some of the reusable shopping bags he got after he lost his arm, because they’re a lot easier to carry than the plastic bags. That settled, Bucky grabs his keys and starts on the walk to the store around the block.

Bucky likes his neighborhood, for the most part: it’s quiet, and just out of the way and run down enough that it doesn’t cost him an arm—hah—and a leg in rent every month. He and his therapist both agree, too, that it’s good for Bucky to have his own apartment for a while. He never would have thought, before moving out of the apartment that the four of them shared for a time, that having his own place would _increase_ his sense of stability, but it really does.

He doesn’t pass anyone on the sidewalk as he goes, which isn’t unusual for this time of day. Everything looks sort of gray, and it matches the way his body feels right now.

The bell above the door to the shop rings at him when he pushes his way inside. The bright lights shake him from his mood, and so Bucky goes about his normal routine of taking a cart. This store has some of those half-sized carts, which is really awesome, because most of the time he doesn’t need a full-sized cart, but it’s impossible to use a basket with only one arm. The half-sized carts are a happy medium. Bucky grabs one and pulls the reusable shopping off of his shoulder and piles them in the top section of his cart. Then, he pulls the list from Darlene out of his pocket and settles it on top of the pile so he can look at it.

It's not particularly complicated, making pizza, though Bucky knows he’ll have to buy dough premade instead of making it by hand. He goes to the section where they keep the pizza dough and grabs something that looks like it won’t require much prep work on his part. The rest of the list is easy: the right type of sauce, several kinds of cheese, and finding some of the toppings Darlene thought Sam might like plus some for himself.

Bucky pushes the cart back to the front register to check out, and the cashier is even nice enough to help him load the items in his bags. He hooks two over his left shoulder, careful not to put too much pressure on the joint, and carries the other two in the crook of his elbow.

All in call, the trip takes less than a half an hour, but it leaves Bucky feeling both victorious and drained, so he puts his food away, sets the list back on the counter, and stuffs the bags into the same cupboard, probably, before collapsing on top of his bed. It’s still mid-morning, and he doesn’t go into work until 1 o’clock today, so Bucky lets himself take a short nap. In his opinion, he's totally earned it, because it’s been a productive day and he hasn’t even gotten to the date part yet.

*

Working at Ms. Mittal’s bookstore doesn’t require much, most days.

Ms. Mittal is very understanding of Bucky’s disability, and never asks him to do anything he reasonably can’t do, like shelve books or grab heavy boxes off of the top shelves in the storage area. He wishes, of course, that he _could_ do those things for her, because she’s getting older and her husband died last year, which is why she hired Bucky in the first place, but that doesn’t change the reality of the fact that he simply _can’t._

Mostly, then, Bucky runs the cash register and talks to this hipsters that come in about his favorite books, because they all seem to think that he’s a hipster too, and want his hipster opinion. He’s not, of course—a hipster that is—no matter what Sam and Nat try to tell him. Bucky does like to read, but usually the ones who want to ask his advice only want to talk about books and authors who Bucky has never heard of, and, honestly, sound terrible. He’ll stick with his non-fiction books, thanks.

Friday afternoons, generally speaking, are pretty quiet, and today is no exception. Ms. Mittal kisses Bucky’s cheek when he gets in, asks him to handle the cash register for her, and then retreats to the back office to work on the store’s finances, just like every Friday. The shop closes at 4:30 today, because Friday used to be date night in the Mittal household, before Mr. Mittal died. Now, Bucky thinks that Ms. Mittal spends the evening with some of her grandkids every week.

Bucky putters around the shop for a while, straightening shelves as best he can and noting the loose books that people obviously pulled out but didn’t decide to buy. Then, after he gets bored of that, he props himself up behind the counter and reads a book on the history of the world; it’s pretty interesting stuff, and the author’s writing style is funny as hell. A few times, he has to stick a bookmark at his stopping point in order to ring up customers, but only one of the wants to have a long, involved conversation about an author Bucky has literally never heard of. He bullshits long enough for the customer to leave him alone, and then starts reading again.

By the end of his shift, Bucky feels much more enlightened about the about the early history of the world, and he’s relatively calm about this whole date thing, which is nice. He likes it when his anxiety doesn’t flare up, for obvious reasons.

There’s still an hour and a half before Bucky is meant to meet Sam at the zoo, but between the constant delays of the subway and Bucky’s own issues with public transportation, he’s going to need all the time he can get. So he goes back home real quick to change into a comfortable t-shirt and his favorite pair of jeans and grab his pass. Then it’s off to the nearest subway station.

*

Thing is, Bucky isn’t exactly a huge fan of anything that can be called a _crowd_. And the subway, at 5 o’clock on a Friday afternoon? There’s definitely a _crowd._

But he only has an hour until he’s meant to meet Sam and it’s going to take nearly all of that time for the subway to even get him to the Bronx, so Bucky just hunches his shoulders and dives in, trying to weave through people as much as possible, rather than shoving, like _some_ assholes.

Bucky thinks about last night as he walks to the correct line. Last night, there was a crowd too, but he had Steve with him then, and Coney Island is familiar ground for the both of them. It’s a lot easier to stay calm in a situation like that, but Bucky does his best to think about the feeling of walking around with Steve’s hand on his back, knowing there was someone there to help him if he got too freaked out.

He’s still pretty freaked out, but the image is enough to get him onto the train with the crush of people. Bucky finds a corner and parks himself there, holding his arm across his stomach.

It’s just an hour, with Sam at the end of it. He can do this.

*

He does manage it, but holy _shit_ is it hard to keep it together long enough to get off the train and up onto the street from the station. It’s a few minutes’ walk to the zoo from where he is, so Bucky takes the opportunity to pull himself together a little bit as he walks.

Sam is already waiting by the entrance to the gate on the river side of the zoo, and the moment he catches sight of Bucky’s face he frowns with concern. Bucky walks right up to where Sam stands and hugs him, curling his body inward so he can rest his forehead on Sam’s shoulder. Sam brings his arms up and rubs Bucky’s back softly.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, though it’s muffled by the way his face is pressed into Sam’s shirt. “I should’ve asked before hugging you.”

“It’s alright, bud,” Sam says. He lets Bucky stand there and hug him for as long as Bucky wants, which turns out to be a pretty long time. When he’s finally feeling a bit better, Bucky pulls back and gives Sam a smile.

“So, you ready to go look at some really cool birds?” He asks. Sam laughs, but takes Bucky’s offered hand.

They have to separate when they get to the gate, because Bucky needs his hand to pull out his phone, which has the tickets on it. But once they’re through, Bucky slips his phone into his pocket and takes Sam’s hand again.

“It isn’t a far walk to the exhibit,” He tells Sam. “I did some reading, too. They’re all open-air exhibits, but the birds are attracted to light, I guess. So they’re probably going to be inside, but they don’t have to be.”

“Huh,” Sam says. “Good to know.”

The World of Birds, as the exhibit is called, is this big, ugly concrete building that’s probably supposed to look artful and modern, but mostly just manages to look, well, ugly. Bucky can tell Sam hates it on sight. He tugs him to the entrance anyway, in the hopes that it’ll be a bit less ugly on the inside.

And it is.

It’s really cool, actually. There are different exhibits that mimic different environments, so there are birds from all over the world. Each exhibit has a little plaque that gives important information and fun facts about each species, and for Bucky, who doesn’t know much about birds at all, it’s fascinating to read.

Sam, thankfully, seems to be having a great time. He points out the species he recognizes and tells Bucky about them in his own words, and it’s nice to hear it out loud, from someone who knows what they’re talking about.

Bucky’s favorite bird, by the end of the night, is this squat, fluffy little owl that spent the whole time glaring at them. It reminds him of Nat, and he sends he a picture just to annoy her, because he knows she’ll know what he means by it. Sam’s favorite is something with a name Bucky can’t remember, but he does know it’s from the Amazon Rain Forest. It’s bright, and flashy, but the information card tells them the colors are for a variety of purposes, not just for attracting a mate. Bucky thinks that’s pretty cool, to have a physical characteristic that serves multiple purposes.

By the time they’ve made it through the whole exhibit and are back outside, the sun has set. Sam yawns and stretches and throws his arm over Bucky’s shoulders.

“Where to now?” he asks.

“Well,” Bucky says, turning a little so he can plant a kiss on Sam’s cheek, “I was thinking we could make pizza together? I called your mom and got a recipe she said you like.”

Sam tries to turn and look at him in surprise, but since his arm is still around Bucky’s shoulders that means they end up nose-to-nose. Bucky goes a little cross-eyed at the close quarters.

“Mama gave you her secret family pizza recipe? Really? She hasn’t even given that to me,” Sam says.

Bucky feels like he’s going to burst, he’s so happy to hear that Darlene trusts him with stuff like that, but he only says, “I’ll have you know that Darlene and I talk every week like clockwork. Maybe if you called her more often, she would give it to you too.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but they’re both only playing.

“I’d love to make pizza with you,” Sam tells him, looking for all the world like pizza is an innuendo for something else when they both know it isn’t. Now it’s Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes. Sam continues, “You good with taking my car back to your place?”

“God, yes please,” Bucky says fervently. Sam laughs.

*

Back at Bucky’s little studio apartment, he pulls out the ingredients while Sam looks over the instructions Bucky wrote down this morning.

“Do you think you’ll want black olives, green peppers, or both?” Bucky asks, his head stuck in the fridge. He can’t imagine why any sane person would want olives on their pizza, but according to Darlene, it was one of Sam’s favorite toppings as a kid.

“Ooh, olives,” Sam responds. Then: “Hey, Bucko, are you sure you wrote down the oven temp right? This seems a little high.”

Bucky pulls himself out of the fridge to take a look. It does seem a little high, but he can’t quite remember exactly what Darlene told him this morning.

“I guess?” He says, putting the thing of olives on the counter. “Your mom was pretty clear about how long and at what temperature to cook the pizzas.”

Sam stares at the paper for a moment longer, and then shrugs.

“Well, if that’s what she told you.”

It’s really, really fun to make pizza with Sam. He handles everything related to the dough for the crust, thankfully, which leaves Bucky to spread sauce and cheese and toppings on the crust when it’s all prepped. Half of the pizza gets black olives and the other half gets green peppers and pepperoni slices. Bucky is very careful to make sure the two sides do not overlap.

The oven beeps to tell them it’s finished preheating just as Bucky puts the last piece of pepperoni down, so Sam picks it up and slides the tray into the oven. He sets the timer and then turns to look at Bucky.

“What now?”

“TV?” Bucky suggests. Sam shrugs in agreement and they make their way over to the bed, which serves as both a bed and a couch, because the apartment is too small to actually have a bed. Sam snags the remote, and they settle in next to each other to watch some Law & Order, because Steve and Nat aren’t here to complain about how terrible and inaccurate it is.

One episode later, Sam lifts his head from Bucky’s chest and sniffs the air. He sniffs again. Tentatively, he asks, “Do you smell something burning too?”

It takes a minute for the meaning to register, but when it does, Bucky launches himself from the bed towards the kitchen. The timer hasn’t gone off yet, the pizza can’t possibly be burning.

He gets to the oven door just in time to see the pizza catch fire through the glass.

“Shit!” He yells. “Sam, the fire extinguisher!”

Sam heroically grabs the fire extinguisher just as the smoke alarm starts blaring. When Sam is next to him and has the nozzle at the ready, Bucky pulls open the oven door and backs away quickly. Sam blasts the pizza with the fire extinguisher, probably for longer than is absolutely necessary. Better safe than sorry, and all that.

Only when the fire is definitely, totally out does Sam put the extinguisher down. They stare at the mess that was Bucky’s oven for a long minute. In the background, the smoke alarm is still going and the Law & Order theme song is playing.

“Um,” Sam says. “How do you feel about takeout?”

“Takeout sounds great,” Bucky says faintly.

*

They order Chinese, and it isn’t homecooked pizza, made with love, but it’s still pretty damn good.

“God,” Sam practically moans. He looks like he’s trying to shove his face directly into the lo mein container. “I always forget how good this place is.”

Bucky hums in agreement, because he’s too busy stuffing his mouth with sweet and sour chicken to actually talk.

When they’ve plowed their way through most of the takeout, they fall onto the bed again to continue watching Law & Order.

After only a few minutes, Bucky notices how Sam is holding the collar of his shirt over his nose. He rubs his hand down Sam’s back.

“I didn’t think I smelled that bad,” he says, shooting for amused. “I showered this week and everything.”

Sam snorts and says, voice slightly muffled by the fabric of his shirt, “Sorry babe, I just can’t take the burnt cheese smell anymore.”

Confused, Bucky sniffs, but he doesn’t really smell anything.

“What?”

“Can’t you smell it?” Sam asks. Bucky shakes his head. “It’s awful, I’m sorry, Buck. I’d love to cuddle more, but I just can’t take the smell.”

Bucky laughs. He can’t really be offended; just because the smell isn’t bothering him doesn’t mean it’s not bothering Sam, and they’ve already had a really good night together. Some more cuddling would be awesome, but he’s not going to make Sam stay if he’s getting uncomfortable.

“Alright,” Bucky tells him. “I love you. And I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

Sam nods, leaning forward to kiss Bucky on the cheek; it’s a gray day, so Bucky doesn’t ask for more. Sam says, “I love you too. And yeah, dinner tomorrow. I’ll text everyone about it in the morning.”

Bucky sees Sam to the door and gives him one last full-body hug. And then Sam is gone. But he’ll be back tomorrow.

Bucky still misses living with all of his partners, especially on gray days, but it’s sort of nice to be able to curl up in his big bed by himself with as many blankets as he has in the apartment, and watch Law & Order as loudly as he wants.

He’s pretty sure that the temperature on the recipe was, in fact, too high, and that a certain pair of somebodies may have had something to do with it. But that’s alright. He was the last date, so he’ll be the most recent in Sam’s mind when they ask him to decide tomorrow. And anyway, even better than winning three weeks of Date Night control was having a really good time with Sam.

Bucky snuggles further into his blankets and turns up the volume on the TV. He’s going to have to figure out how to get revenge on Steve and Nat for messing with his plans, but for now, he’s going to revel in the warm feeling in his chest and memories of Sam’s happy face tonight.

* * *

SEPTEMBER 24

SAM

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Rhodey says. His last forkful of hash browns is only halfway to his mouth, and Sam is tempted to try and steal it. “They really did all that?”

Sam nods. His story has drawn an audience at this point, which consists mostly of Clint, Isaiah, and Riley, though America and Kate have been popping in every once in a while, between tables. Clint, seated next to Rhodey, looks impressed. Isaiah, from what Sam can see of his profile, is decidedly not. Riley, in a chair at the end of the table, mostly just looks amused, and Sam honestly has no idea how long he’s been there, but he’s certain Riley hasn’t spent so much time outside of the kitchen during open hours since before the diner technically opened.

“Okay but when did you figure out they were sabotaging each other?” Clint asks.

Sam laughs and takes a sip of his drink. It’s mostly melted ice, at this point, but he drinks it anyway, because his throat is a little sore from all the talking.

“Oh, that was easy,” he says. “I figured it out the moment I got the confirmation email about the plane. Steve and planes? A terrible idea, really.”

Riley, who’s sitting with his chin resting on his hand and his elbow resting on the table, butts in with, “Why didn’t you stop them?”

Sam shrugs. “It was cute, how they were all trying to one up each other and thought they were being sneaky about it. And it was nice to go on dates with them one-on-one again.”

“So what happened?” Isaiah asks, intrigued despite himself and visibly annoyed about it. “Who won?”

Sam laughs to himself again and asks America, who has just drifted over to their little group, if he can have another drink. She grabs the cup, salutes him with it, and speeds back off through the maze of the diner tables.

Riley rolls his eyes, because he knows what that laugh means. It’s hard not to, when you spend all of your childhood as best friends and co-conspirators.

Sam grins at his audience and says, “Well…”

* * *

SEPTEMBER 23: BIRTHDAY

SAM

The morning of his birthday, Sam stands in his tiny kitchen, looks out the tiny window over the sink at the beginnings of the sunrise, and calls his mama. It’s a ritual they’ve stuck to as well as they could over the years, barring any complications. Twenty-eight doesn’t feel like much of a milestone, but he lets her sing _Happy Birthday_ to him without making a fuss. After that’s done, he tells her about his week and how, mysteriously, all three of his partners have been struck with some sort of bug of romantic ineptitude. Sam regales her with the stories of the dates and they laugh together. She tsks when Sam tells her, “Bucky managed to burn the pizza, last night.”

“That boy,” she says, sighing. “I guess we’ll never make a proper cook out of him.”

Sam smiles, thinking fondly of the night before. It was sort of a disaster, but so were the other two dates, to a certain extent. “I mean, it was _charred_.”

His mama laughs, long and loud, so Sam does too. When they’ve calmed down some, she says, “You know they’re doing this because they love you, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know.”

They say goodbye not long after that, having made plans for all four of them to come to his mama’s house Monday evening after work, which is the only evening she has free between Sam’s siblings, their kids, and all of the groups she’s a part of.

When Sam hangs up, he feels lighter, like he always does. It’s two steps to the fridge from where he’s standing, and he pulls out the orange juice, some bread, and a jar of his favorite type of jam. While he’s waiting for the bread to toast, Sam pulls his phone back out and shoots off a message to the group text.

**To: Steeb; Buck-o; Nat [Group Message: the Baes™]**  
Hope you guys didn’t forget about tonight’s Date Night in all the other excitement. 6:30 still work?

He’s most of the way through his toast by the time all three of them have confirmed that they’re available for dinner. Sam sends the address to the restaurant, for Bucky, and adds a reminder to dress relatively nice, _please_ , for Steve and Nat. A minute later, his phone buzzes, and he checks it.

**From: Nat [Group Message: the Baes™]**  
:-)

Sam sighs and puts his phone down. There is plenty of stuff to do today before their date without trying to puzzle out the meaning behind Nat’s use of emoticons, if there even is a meaning at this point.

*

At 6:20 PM exactly, Sam finds himself standing outside the front of the restaurant he chose for tonight, waiting for the others to arrive. He’s wearing his favorite blue button-down and khakis, because he would never hear the end of it if he told them to look nice and then showed up to dinner in a Henley. Well. Considering how much they all like him in a Henley, he may have been able to get away with it, but it’s too late now, because here comes Bucky, walking down the block.

He’s in a green button down and jeans, with a lighter green scarf wrapped around his neck. His hair is pulled back in a bun, made a little messy by the fact that he must have done it himself. It’s a good look for him, and it takes Sam a moment to notice that Bucky doesn’t have his prosthetic on again. The left sleeve of his shirt is pinned up, but sort of unevenly.

“Hey darling,” Bucky says, drawling like he hasn’t lived in New York his whole life.

Sam steals a quick peck, and then leans back far enough to look Bucky up and down again, a bit more obviously this time. He teases, “You clean up nice, Barnes.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Actually,” he says, “can you help me? I wanted to tie my sleeve tonight, and roll the other one, but I couldn’t do it by myself.”

“Of course,” Sam says, trying not to make this a bigger deal than it is, though it’s actually a pretty big deal. Bucky typically isn’t very good at asking for help, especially if it’s something to do with his arm. Sam just takes out the pin, ties the sleeve like he’s seen Nat do it, and then rolls up the sleeve on Bucky’s right arm until it’s above his elbow.

Just as he finishes, Bucky asks, “Can I have a hug, too?”

Sam leans in and wraps his arms tight around Bucky’s middle, careful not to put any pressure on the stump of his left arm. Bucky gets his right arm around Sam’s waist and hugs back just as tight. They stand there for a long minute, hugging in the middle of a Brooklyn sidewalk. Sam doesn’t move until Bucky does, because he knows that being able to hug like this is important to Bucky.

When Bucky pulls away, he’s looking at something over Sam’s shoulder, so Sam turns too.

It’s Steve and Natasha, climbing out of a cab together. Steve, ever the gentleman, is already out, cane in one hand and the edge of the door in the other. Nat steps out, her heels clicking on the cement. Steve closes the door and then offers his elbow to Nat. They make a pretty picture as they walk to where Sam and Bucky stand: Nat in her little black dress with her hair pulled back elegantly and Steve in his red button down and suspenders.

Sam is very, very lucky to have them all in his life, and he’s so grateful that Bucky thought, years and years ago, to tell Sam to look up his friends, “Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers,” once he got out of the Air Force.

He knows that this week was about them showing him how much they all love him, and he appreciates it, but he wants them to know he loves them too.

They exchange greetings, hugs and kisses included, and then step into the restaurant. It’s one of Sam’s favorites, both because the food is excellent and no one has ever batted an eye at seeing four people who are all obviously on a date together.

The hostess smiles when she sees Sam. She asks, “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

“Yes, Sam Wilson, four, for 6:30?”

The woman glances down at her chart and smiles again when she looks back up. “Of course! Your table is ready for you. Right this way, Mr. Wilson.”

She grabs four menus and walks them to the back wall, where she seats them at the type of round table Sam specifically requested when making the reservation. That way, they can all face each other, and don’t have to choose who sits next to who.

The hostess leaves them with yet another smile and some glasses of water. They settle in—Bucky sits with his back to the wall, Steve sits across from him, so Sam takes the chair to Bucky’s right and Nat takes the one to his left—and take a peek at the menus, though they’ve been here plenty of times before.

Dinner follows a predictable pattern: Sam orders steak, Nat gets some sort of pasta dish, Steve goes with a cobb salad, and Bucky, who always likes to try something different, decides on the salmon; over salads—and soup for Steve—they talk about their days; by the time the entrees and wine arrive, the conversation segues into retellings of their favorite stories.

Nothing is off-limits.

“Remember the time,” Bucky says, laughing hard enough he’s having a hard time cutting his salmon one-handedly. Sam leans over to help, which frees up Bucky to laugh some more. “Remember the time, senior year, when Steve made a fool of himself in front of the entire graduating class because he was defending Peggy Carter’s honor?”

Steve’s face goes red. Nat nearly chokes on a piece of pasta she starts laughing so suddenly. “Yes,” she wheezes. “Oh my god, I can still see the look on Principal Phillips’ face.”

Steve crunches loudly on a crouton as revenge. “What about your first month of high school with us, hmm, Nat?”

That sets Bucky off again. “You—” he says, trying to get enough air to speak and only sort of succeeding— “you were so mad at your parents for making you move that you only spoke Russian for a month. Not one other person in the whole school spoke Russian.”

Sam laughs at that, and turns to face Bucky a little more. He thinks he might hear Steve say _uh oh_ , but he can’t be sure.

“Did I ever tell you about when I first started living with these two?” he asks Bucky. Bucky shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It was just after I got out, so I was sleeping on the couch at their place. And they were _the works cooks_ I have ever had the misfortune to cohabitate with. Seriously, it was cereal and ramen _every_ night.”

Sam leans back in his chair, smirking, as Bucky starts to laugh again. Steve says _hey!_ , in a very affronted tone and Nat says, “We were in _college,_ what did you expect?”

The memories get fonder, quieter, as dinner winds down. Nat orders desert, and she and Steve demolish it with glee. Sam and Bucky content themselves with wine.

Bucky smiles slightly into his glass and says, “I miss living together with all of you guys.”

Steve pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth; Sam and Nat exchange a glance.

Bucky looks up and takes in all of their faces. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant!” he says quickly. “I know it’s a good thing that I’m living on my own right now—gotta learn to be independent, and all that.” He pauses and puts down his wineglass so he can scratch the side of his jaw, an old nervous habit. “It’s just—maybe someday, we can all live together again? If you guys want?”

Sam’s mouth softens into something that isn’t quite big enough to be a smile, and he reaches out to put his hand on Bucky’s thigh. On Bucky’s other side, Nat does the same. He’s so happy to be here with the people he loves more than anything in the world. Sam says, “Yeah, we can definitely talk about it, Bucky.”

Bucky’s smile could outshine the whole city.

*

By the time they’ve actually paid the check—split evenly between the four of them, though technically it’s Sam’s turn to pay, because the others insist that his birthday cancels out most of the Date Night obligations—and are ready to leave, the table has already been cleared by impatient wait staff. All that’s left is the candle in the middle of the tablecloth.

“We’re good?” Sam asks, starting to rise. “I’m assuming we’re going back to your guys’ place, Steve?”

“Actually,” Steve says, hesitantly looking at the other two. Bucky gives Steve an encouraging nod. Sam sits back down and raises an eyebrow. “We have something to confess, sort of.”

“Go on,” Sam draws out.

“Uh,” Steve says, and then stops. After a moment, it becomes clear that he isn’t going to continue, so Nat rolls her eyes and butts in.

“There was a mix up with our presents this year, so we decided to do fun date experiences for you instead. But then someone, and I can’t _possibly_ remember who it was—” which means any one of them could have suggested it, but her eyes aren’t giving anything up— “thought it would be even better if we made it a bet. So we did.”

“Okay,” Sam says.

“ _Oh thank god,_ ” Bucky whispers just as Steve asks, hopeful, “You aren’t mad?”

“No,” Sam says, shrugging. “There’s no point. What’s the prize?”

“Control over the next three Date Nights,” Nat tells him.

Sam whistles, surprised. That’s quite the bet.

After a moment of thought, he asks slowly, “And the winner is whoever I think had the best date this week?”

The other three nod.

Sam leans forward a little, and the others mirror him: Bucky and Steve place their right forearms on the tabletop and angle themselves toward him; Nat gives up all sense of decorum and leans as far over the table as she can manage, resting her elbows on the table and her face in her hands.

“My favorite date,” Sam says, and pauses to draw out the suspense. The other three lean in even closer. “My favorite date, and the winner of the bet, was…” He can practically hear them holding their breath, but he makes them wait for another half a moment. “Tonight.”

Silence. Then, from Bucky: “What.”

“Can he even _do_ that?” Steve asks Nat.

“You said,” Sam cuts in, “best date _this week_. Tonight is still the same week as the others, and you never said it couldn’t count toward the bet.”

“Shit,” Nat says, and Sam laughs, because he knows he’s won.

“So,” he says, “I was thinking a spa day, next Saturday?”

**Author's Note:**

> And then they lived happily every after, moving into the same apartment a year from now and adopting two kittens and a dog.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment about how you felt about the fic--good or bad--or if you're curious about the quartet's past and future together :3 (I have lots of headcanons!) As a disclaimer and an apology, I know nothing about Brooklyn, rock climbing, Coney Island, the Hayden Planetarium, the Bronx Zoo, how grocery stores work in NYC, or pretty much anything else that happens in this fic. Funny how that works.
> 
> If you haven't already, please check out Veggies' art [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222153)! (And if you have already: why not check it out again?). I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and are having a great time taking in all of the new Sam-love the fandom has been producing this month!
> 
> Read on,  
> Skats


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